


well, well, well you're feeling fine

by rayguntomyhead



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Medical, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayguntomyhead/pseuds/rayguntomyhead
Summary: “Okay, so I don’t mean to come off a total aft,” First Aid said. “But I feel like ‘only spark, strut or optics’ is a self-explanatory concept. What with the sign on the door explaining it.”Swerve stared up at him, every inch of him projecting bewildered misery in Aid’s general direction. Both hands clutched his middle, and his fans whined in agitation. Overdramatic fragger.It’s too damn late for this.Or, no matter where you go, there are some things about being a medic to a bunch of overdramatic mecha on a mission that will never change.





	well, well, well you're feeling fine

**Author's Note:**

> This will be more of a series of interconnected shorts rather than an overarching story, mainly because I thought about Autobots and medics and Autobot medics and then words happened. So far, they're all more or less stand alone.

“Okay, so I don’t mean to come off a total aft,” First Aid said. “But I feel like ‘only spark, strut or optics’ is a self-explanatory concept. What with the sign on the door explaining it.”

Swerve stared up at him, every inch of him projecting bewildered misery in Aid’s general direction. Both hands clutched his middle, and his fans whined in agitation. Overdramatic fragger.

All but every recharge cycle, all but every other time he stands duty. It’s too damn late for this. 

“Okay, so here’s what we‘ll do,” First Aid jabbed a servo towards the slab squatting placid against the wall. “You will sit there while I check your vital signs. _Quietly_.” 

Swerve all but toppled himself onto the chair, struts splayed limp around over the sides like he didn’t even have enough energy to sit up. 

Honestly. 

“And,” First Aid said, slapping the diagnostic patches onto Swerve’s chest, “after they all come back normal, I will give you a block that will stop your circuits from trying to purge your tank–“ 

Swerve opened his mouth like he was about to say something that would catapult First Aid from irritated into a _very bad mood_ so First Aid leaned close enough he could hiss directly into Swerve’s face, “–and you will _go the frag to sleep_. Copy?” 

Swerve pouted. 

Ugh. See, this was the problem with having an on duty medic stay here. Somehow the mere presence of a mech in the med bay clearly meant that any ‘bot could stagger themselves in for the tiniest case of malware at whatever hour of the night they pleased. No matter that the duty medbot had, in face, _already_ worked a whole shift and was supposedly only on call for _actual_ emergencies. 

The overhead display let out an apathetic beat, and there. Like First Aid thought. Perfectly normal. 

Although his fuel pump was running a little hot… 

First Aid squinted closer at the readout. Swerve looked from screen, to First Aid, and back to the screen before letting out a pathetic little moan and throwing an arm over his face.

“Go ahead, tell me,” Swerve said. “I can take it. No need to crystal-coat it.” 

First Aid poked at the display. It didn’t change. He poked it harder.

“You’ll make Rodimus give a speech for me, won’t you?” Swerve slid lower and lower on the slab until he’d all but melted half onto the floor. “A good one? Maybe even play the ol’ cyber violins for me as they send me out to rest among the stars?” 

There. That reading looked much better. Still a little high though and probably deserved a diagnostic scan in the morning. A fuel filter check too, with all the additive scrap Swerve put in his drinks in the name of ‘bartendering’. Who knows what could be clogging it up, and sending out frantic system alerts to purge in a desperate attempt to fix the problem.

“You’ll remember me too won’t you?” Swerve stared up, head on the seat of the chair. “Remember your ol’ buddy Swerve?”

“Get up you drama bot,” First Aid reached down to rip the diagnostic patch off, ignoring Swerve’s squeak as some of his surface paint came off with it. “You’re not dying.”

Swerve paused, and his visor brightened. 

“…no?”

“No,” First Aid said. He bent down enough he could hook his hands under Swerve’s armpits and haul him upright. “You probably drank something with a few too many additives.” 

Letting go of Swerve after a pause to make sure he could reasonably be trusted to remain upright, First Aid turned to the cupboard on the left of the bay, holding a hand up to let it scan his ID. It popped open with a cheerful hum, and he rummaged among the data sticks until–

There. This should do it. Standard combo purge-inhibitor and mild pain-dampener, more than enough to handle Swerve’s symptoms until a reasonable hour.

“Use this when you get back to your hab,” First Aid said, jabbing it out in Swerve’s general direction as he reached up to reset the monitors with the other hand. “Report to sick call first thing before your shift unless you _actually_ start emptying your tank.” 

Swerve stared at the stick like it had failed him on a deeply personal level. 

“…but,” he said, “are you _sure_ –“

“If you want to go wake Ratchet you can,” First Aid said mildly, already plodding towards the alcove holding his lovely, lovely, recharge slab. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be at all unhappy to be woken up in the middle of his recharge cycle to do a thorough differential diagnosis on a queasy tank.”

“Ah,” Swerve hastily shuffled back. “Well. I suppose I can, um, wait. Until morning.”

“Really,” First Aid said over his shoulder, dimming the overhead lights. “Feel free. I want to make sure you’re happy with your care.”

A disgruntled engine rev, followed by even more disgruntled mutterings came from Swerve’s general vicinity as he trudged out of the medbay and _finally_. 

First Aid flopped backwards onto his recharge slab, stretching his aching struts. It wasn’t ideal, only having the three of them. Doable, of course. But with the ridiculous amount of serious trouble the crew inevitably got themselves into on a regular basis, on top of all the mundane malware and misfiring circuits? They could have used at least two other mecha. If nothing else it would make the duty roster slightly more bearable. Even just _four_ duty sections. 

First Aid closed his eyes, and willed his processor to slow. Give it a few cycles and maybe he can relax enough to drop back into recharge. For the whole couple joors he has left. 

Someone coughed. 

No. Nuh uh. Nope. 

First Aid kept his optics firmly offline. 

Someone coughed louder. 

First Aid took a deep cleansing intake, and heaved himself upright again. Blinking his optics online, he turned to see what slag-for-brains was interrupting his recharge cycle now. 

A dim blue blue visor visor stared pitifully back, white hands clinging to the edge of the med bay door. Oh, look. The _other_ mini-terror had wandered in. 

“Um,” Tailgate said, drooping. “I have a helmache?”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are <3


End file.
